A Taste of Decadence
by Shatteredsand
Summary: A late night urge to cook leads the older Savatore brother to the lovely kitchen of one Elena Gilbert.


**AN: Random one-shot. Damon and Elena in her kitchen, because they have some of their best scenes in that kitchen. Takes place anywhere after S01E14 I guess. Oh, and I wrote it during summer school while dodging teachers and trying to conquer the bane of my existence: geometry. So please tell me if there are any mistakes and I'll try and fix them. Thanks.**

**Warnings: **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries.**

**A Taste of Decadence**

Elena moves down the stairs slowly, cautiously. A curious mix of sounds is coming from her kitchen. Which, normally, she'd blame on Jeremy or Jenna getting a case of the midnight munchies. But with all the strange and deadly tings that had entered her life with the arrival of the Salvatore brothers, she's not takin anything for granted any more. She pauses just outside the door, half afraid of what she might find.

"Are you just going to stand outside the door all night?" The voice of Damon Salvatore taunts her as the man himself appears, leaning casually against the frame with his trademark smirk.

Elena jumps a little at his sudden appearance. "God, Damon, don't do that! And what are you doing in my kitchen at two in the morning?"

"Creature of the night, Elena. Little St. Stefan may pride himself on his human-esque qualities, but real vampires don't sleep all that much." Damon tilts his head towards the room he had just left. "I got bored and had the urge to cook, but since I don't actually need to eat anymore..."

"You thought you'd do it in my kitchen?"

"I thought I'd cook for you."

Elena blinks in surprise, opens her mouth to retort, and realizes that Damon, in his own very weird Damon way, is being _nice_. "What did you make?"

A real smile graces his features for a split second, then it vanishes behind his arrogant facade again. "Come see." He says suggestively, complete with playful eyebrow quirks. Elena can't help the small smile it brings to her face.

Stifling a laugh at his antics, Elena leads the vampire into the kitchen he acts like he owns. Displayed on her island counter in a three layer chocolate cake, dribbled with dark red cherry sauce. It looks delicious.

"What do you say, Elena?" Damon whispers against her ear, body pressing into hers the same way it had the last time they had been alone in her kitchen. "Want a taste?"

"Uh," Elena tries to decline, because it's obvious he's not just talking about cake, but she can't seem to make the words come out. "I guess?" She hadn't meant to say that...

Damon moves away, releasing his gently firm hold on her to cut the cake, and Elena breathes a small sigh of relief. She'd never admit it, but being that close to the elder Salvatore short-circuits her reasoning. She just can't think when he's touching her.

Elena's eyebrows rise when Damon returns with a single slice; he steps into her space with a charming grin. "Damon," She starts to tell him to back off, but he cuts her off with a forkful of the most sinfully good thing she's ever had the pleasure of having in her mouth.

"Good?" He asks, leaning in and staring into her eyes. And once again she can't put two thoughts together, lost in those mesmerizing blue eyes.

"Yeah."

"Good." He smiles and leans away, giving her enough room to breathe and gather her thoughts. Then he takes a bite and all her progress is immediately lost. How can he _possibly _make eating cake _seductive_? she screams in her head as she watches him. A small dot of cherry speckles the corner of his mouth and it looks so perfectly natural there, a stain of red on his vampire lips. Elena closes her eyes, reminds herself that she loves Stefan, and tries to resist the urge to clean the drop off...with her tongue. Her hand absently finds its way to her vervain necklace, silent reassurance that her thoughts are her own.

Damon's own devilish tongue flicks out to capture the errent morsel and Elena can't tear her eyes away. He's watching her watching him, and suddenly it feels very wrong because it feels very right. Without breaking eye contact, Damon sets the cake down and advances on Elena. And She is helpless to resist. She doesn't _want _to resist. Slowly, giving Elena every opportunity she knows she should take to stop him, to stop _them_, from doing this, Damon closes the gap between them.

His hand raises and brushes a strand of hair from her face before cupping her cheek. After one last pause, one last chance for her to push him away and do the right thing, Damon pulls Elena into the single most earth shattering kiss to grace the world with its existence. It is soft and sweet and everything Damon strives not to be.

It is perfect.

Damon breaks the kiss and Elena realizes that at some point she's moved because one hand is now tightly knotted in his raven hair and the other is clutching the collar of his leather jacket. And reality slams back into her.

She just kissed Damon. Damon, the vampire who's killed more people than Elena will ever know. Damon, who used and discarded Caroline like she was nothing just because she was human and he was not. Damon, who had nearly killed Bonnie. Damon, who had nearly killed her. Damon, who is the brother of the man she is supposed to be in love with.

But he's looking at her like that again; like his sun rises and sets just for her. And she can't hate him the way she's supposed to. The way everyone says she should. She won't says she loves him. Not to him, not to herself. But she'll acknowledge that she could. That he means more than he should. That if he wanted to kiss her again tonight, she would.

"I should go." he whispers, his breath ghosting across her lips. But neither of them move to break their embrace. A minute passes, just a minute of silent understanding. Of comprehension and acceptance.

Then, they move. Elena releases her grip on his jacket, takes her hand back from his hair. Damon relinquishes his gentle holdon her waist, lowers his hand from her face.

"Goodnight, Elena." He says softly, still standing near enough to touch if either moved so much as an inch.

Elena couldn't tell yo why she did it. Because she knows she shouldn't have. But, like most things where the darker Salvatore is concerned, she seemed to have no control over herself. Moving just the slightest bit, Elena captures his lips with own for one last kiss. It is chaste and short. But it's enough. "Goodnight, Damon."

And he walks away slowly, as if dazed. Seeming for all the world like the human he no longer is.

Elena licks her lips unconsciously. Tastes the rements of him on her and blushes. He tastes like decadence. Pure, delightful, immoral _decadence_.


End file.
